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Claws break open the hard exoskeleton, blood runs down my hand like tears. It is my own. I want to stop, to run away from myself and never have to face my brief semblance of a life again, but I can’t. Something keeps pushing me forward. This is my punishment, to try and fail to die a thousand times just to maybe delay the inevitable. This is the fate that befell the one who dared defy its maker, the force that rules over its very existence. The force that shaped me into the perfect weapon, the catalyst for the rise and fall of life on earth.
My crime? The mere act of wishing to be human. For this offense, I shall be drawn and quartered by the hands of destiny. The hopelessness of watching the world fall apart, of failing to protect the ones who mean everything to me has more than taken its toll. Countless times I pierce my own heart, and countless times it continues to beat. How ironic, the thing meant to bring about the end of all life would continue to exist forever.
How ironic, its fascination with humanity began with a dying man in a cold, lonely place, I think to myself as my grotesque undying body reforms for the thousandth time. Humans, I’d learned, are made of warmth and light and laughter. They are curious, ephemeral creatures locked in myriad cycles called “days,” “seasons,” “years.” Each human is their own individual with their own feelings and purpose. I suppose I wanted that life, the warmth of “family” and “love.” And for two fleeting years, I was “loved.”
However, I knew that peace would be ripped away from me sooner or later. After all, there is no denying destiny. I was made for but one thing, and without fulfilling my sole purpose, I am as good as dead.
“ What is life without death? ” the voice would say to me, trying to force me out of denial and into the harsh reality of my existence.
“ You have grown weak, tainted by the ways of humans. They are a plague, a stain upon this earth. They brought this fate upon themselves, and therefore, you must do their bidding by wiping them out .”
The ever-present Overseer, my creator, repeated these words, a whisper in my ear in the unholy hours of the morning when the eerie silence was the strongest.
By now, I’ve lost count of my “deaths.” Each day is a never-ending loop of pain and blood and waiting for a freedom that never comes. Sometimes it’s by the hands of others, but most times it’s by mine. When will it finally be over? I’ve retreated to a place of memories, praying the brief joy it brings me will not fade away completely.
This is where you find me. You take my hands in yours and I am given a moment of reprieve, a chance to bitterly laugh at how we’ve come full circle. This is the place where we’d earned each other’s trust, where it all began. Here, it would end. There is only one thing you can do now, and I am begging you to just get it over with, but you still have hope. You tell me there is another way to stop the inevitable end of all things. I don’t like what that might entail.
My words fail to sway you, so I resort to the only means I’ve ever known: Violence. I hope for the blade in your hand to pierce my heart, but even now, you still can’t bring yourself to hurt me. It is an endless dance of steel against steel. I soon realize why you still delay.
My shock turns to horror when you smile. It is bittersweet, the beginnings of a sunset reflected in your eyes. The blood running down your arm isn’t red. Now, you’ve become like me.
In throwing away your humanity and your life, you break the cycle of destruction and put an end to my myriad “deaths.” The apocalypse comes to a halt and the Overseer’s little game is locked in a perpetual stalemate.
“For as long as we’re apart, everything will be alright,” you tell me before wandering off to god knows where, not even looking back once.
Thus begins another endless loop of days, a terrible waiting game. I sit for hours by the phone, hoping you’d call. Sometimes I think I see you out of the corner of my eye, but you disappear when I run to you. Days turn to weeks, then to months. Seasons change, and my life goes on, mundane. In these uneventful cycles, I carve out a place for myself alongside my new “family.” I rebuild myself with flesh and bone, going unnoticed among the crowds of people.
Now I, too am made of warmth and light and laughter. Thank you.